


might as well jump

by youatemytailor



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Banter, Because I'm a sucker for that, M/M, also flint trying to teach silver things, leading up to soft porn with half a plot if you squint, literally where would they be without ridiculous banter, mid s2 fic, silverflint, this is essentially sexual tension and arguing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youatemytailor/pseuds/youatemytailor
Summary: “What—” Silver balks, and he looks up to see Flint standing above him, almost entirely fucking naked. There’s a lot of pale skin and freckles and Christ, Silver could have lived a long and happy—well maybe not happy, but at least a blissfully fucking oblivious life without seeing the way Flint’s breeches cling to his fucking thighs.“Uh,” Silver says. It’s the best he can do. He feels lightheaded.Flint shoots him a turbulent kind of look. “What?”“What?”“What?”Silver opens his mouth, “Wha—”Flint sighs, and hangs his head to pinch the bridge of his nose.





	might as well jump

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt. "are you cold?" this got entirely out of hand. i wrote so much angst my brain broke and i've just back-pedalled into smut. they are idiots and i love them. please do not question the physical logistics of the smut, please and thank you i did my best.

“ _No_ ,” Silver says.   

Flint says, “Yes.”   
  
“Perhaps we could discuss an alternative—”   
  
“There's nothing to discuss. I gave you an order, Mr. Silver.“   
  
“I know, but I still fail to see why this is even necessary—“   
  
Flint’s tone sharpens to the edge of a knife. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. Are you questioning my authority or my judgement?”   
  
“In this case,” Silver says and swallows, looking down into the dark expanse of the sea below, “ _Both_.”   
  
It’s a beautiful day. The sort of day Silver imagines poets like to prattle on about; the sun shines, the birds sing, not a single cloud is in sight. The poets, however, can frankly get  _fucked_ , as none of them are currently standing on an unsteady plank of wood over a thirty foot drop into the fucking ocean. 

Flint straightens up from where he was bracing his elbows against the railing and scowls. “I see. Your insubordination is well noted. Now  _jump_ , before I come over there and throw you in myself.”     
  
Silver’s head snaps back to look at him right in the eye. “You  _wouldn’t_.”   
  
“No?” Flint says, and raises an eyebrow. It’s the kind of look that promptly reminds Silver that Flint has  _killed_  people. Repeatedly. With his bare hands. Flint sees the expression on Silver’s face then and smiles like a shark and it just makes everything worse. “Don’t test me.  Either you do this willingly or you do this anyway. It’s up to you.”   
  
“Right.” Silver turns back to the water. He's starting to feel nauseous. “All right, all right. All right. All–”   
  
“You’re stalling.”   
  
“I am  _not_  stalling.”   
  
“You are _stalling_ ,” Flint insists. “Get in the water, Mr. Silver.”   
  
“Listen, what if—”   
  
“Oh, for _Christ’s sake_ —”   
  
The plank gives a violent shudder and suddenly Silver’s arms are pinwheeling. He has a moment to bark out a startled yelp and then his stomach is hitting the water after which the only thing he feels for a great stretch of time is  _agony_. He can’t tell which is worse, the stinging pain all over his body or the freezing fucking temperature; it’s unbelievable, he thinks fiercely, that the sea sits under the sun all year and doesn’t even think to warm up a little. The fall from The Walrus propels him deep into the water and it takes him far too long to claw himself back to the surface, sputtering and cursing. Flint’s face is the first thing he sees when his head breaks through. Or it would be, but the sun is so bright when he opens his eyes that he can’t see much of anything at all.   
  
“That was appalling,” Flint says the exact moment Silver yells, “Fuck you!”   
  
“Mhm,” Flint says. “Get back up here and try again.”   
  
“I like it down here!” Silver yells, turning over onto his back and doing a few quick strokes. “I’m not climbing up there just so you can shove me over the side again!”     
  
Flint leans over the railing and glowers at him. “Get. the  _fuck_. back up here.”   
  
“ _No_ ,” Silver says, and tries to glare back but only manages to squint at the sun. He makes a show of swimming away from the ship, briskly and with purpose.

Flint's yell immediately rings out loud and clear behind him. " _Where the fuck do you think you're going_?"

"Where does it look like I'm going?" 

“ _Silver—_ ” Flint starts, and there’s a little hitch to his voice before it hardens again, “I swear to God if you leave right now I will not allow you back onboard.”   
  
“That’s fine! Good luck holding the crew together long enough to get that gold without me!”   
  
There’s a long tense silence where the only thing Silver hears is his own heavy breathing as he pretends to swim closer to shore. The lazy current does most of the work and he puts up just enough of a fight to inch slowly forwards. He does spare a thought as to what he’ll do if Flint actually lets him go but then, he reasons, he could just climb aboard in the dead of night somehow without alerting Flint and by morning they’ll be on the way to the Urca and by then it’ll be too late to turn back. Right. Good plan.     
  
It’s a terrible plan. But also an ultimately unnecessary one because a moment later there's a long and frustrated sigh. 

“Christ.  _Fine_.”     
  
“Sorry, what was that?” Silver turns to look over his shoulder. “Did you say something, Captain? I can’t hear you from all the way over here. Here. So close to shore. Toward which I am swimming currently—”   
  
“I said  _fine_!” Flint bellows. “You don’t have to learn how to fucking dive if you don’t want to. Like I give a shit.”   
  
True to form, he says he doesn’t give a shit only he really looks like he does. When Silver gets close enough to the ship again he can tell Flint is frowning, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. The water laps against the hull as Silver comes to a stop right by the rope leading up onto the deck, and sighs. 

“Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to teach me something here but I must say your methods really leave something to be desired.”   
  
Flint’s eyes flicker down to him before quickly fixing back onto the horizon. “My methods?”   
  
Something like anger flares up in Silver’s throat suddenly and he says, “I  _told_  you I didn’t like the water and your first thought was to push me in?”   
  
It looks like Flint shifts his weight uneasily, but Silver can’t be sure. Flint’s frown deepens; of that he’s sure.     
  
“More to the point,” Silver says, trying to return his voice to an even cadence, “You barely even taught me the proper technique, how in the fuck was I supposed to—”   
  
Flint braces a hand on the railing and crouches, agitated, “I told you to bend your knees and kick off with your feet, I think I made myself perfectly clear—”   
  
“You threw a bunch of words at me and then threw me into the sea!” Silver protests, and Flint falls silent around a scowl. “I know I’m a quick study but I fail to see how that could teach anybody anything.”   
  
They look at each other through the railing for a long moment until Flint sucks his teeth and rises to his feet again.

“Fine.”   
  
“Fine?” Silver parrots, because Flint has turned around and is now walking further into the deck. He disappears out of sight and suddenly Silver is horrifyingly aware he’s all alone in the water. “Captain?”   
  
It’s an irrational fear, he knows. It’s tied up with a whole host of things he prefers very adamantly not to think about, but regardless he's well aware how silly it is for a grown man who has found himself in the company of pirates to still harbour so much distrust for the sea. That knowledge does not do anything to tamper the squeak that breaks his voice when he grips the rope with both hands and yells, “ _Captain_!”   
  
Flint’s head pops into view. It’s cut off at the neck by the angle of Silver’s sight, and he’s still frowning. He’s retied his hair, the fly-away pieces stowed tightly into the knot at the back of his head. Silver feels so much relief looking at him that he tips forward into the hull with a shaky exhale and rests his forehead on the wood. Which is why he misses entirely the sound of Flint’s now bare feet padding on the deck. He keeps missing it, really, until Flint throws a leg over the side and the cursed plank creaks under his weight.   
  
“What—” Silver balks, and he looks up to see Flint standing above him, almost entirely fucking naked. There’s a lot of pale skin and freckles and  _Christ_ , Silver could have lived a long and happy—well maybe not _happy_ , but at least a blissfully fucking oblivious life without seeing the way Flint’s breeches cling to his fucking thighs.  
     
“Uh,” Silver says. It’s the best he can do. He feels lightheaded.   
  
Flint shoots him a turbulent kind of look. “What?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“ _What_?”   
  
Silver opens his mouth, “ _Wha—_ ”   
  
Flint sighs, and hangs his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he says. “Watch carefully.”   
  
“I am,” Silver croaks.   
  
Flint glances at him again. His ears have gone pink. Maybe it’s the sun. “ _Listen_  carefully,” he says.     
  
“I can’t promise that.”   
  
Flint’s mouth twitches, reluctantly, as if he's trying to keep a smile at bay before he shakes his head and turns back to the water. He gives a quick rundown of the proper form again—and Silver tries to listen, he really  _tries_ , he even nods when Flint gives him a questioning look to check he’s paying attention—and then Flint is kicking off the plank, diving in a perfect arc. Silver has a moment of fucking _relief_ while Flint is underwater but then there’s a glimmer of red and Flint resurfaces a foot away with a splash.

Flint’s hair has come undone from the impact. He shakes it out of his face before pinning Silver with a look. He’s out of breath, too, and lightly panting. Which is. Also fine.   
  
“Is that better?” Flint asks, rubbing the water out of his eyes. “Have my methods improved?”   
  
“Considerably,” Silver says.

He realises he’s still holding onto the rope with both hands like a lifeline and so he releases it, drifts away from the ship. It ends up bringing him closer to Flint, who keeps opening and closing his mouth as though he’s about to speak; an anguished sort of expression on his face like he’s chewing on something he’s been meaning to say. But then his eyes catch on Silver’s shoulder and he frowns, reaches out with a hand.   
  
“You—ah—” Flint’s hand freezes midair and makes a gesture. “You have seaweed on you.”   
  
“Oh,” Silver says, and glances down to see a big green blob of it stuck to his skin. “Well, that’s disgusting.”   
  
Inexplicably, Flint  _laughs_. It’s a wonderful fucking sound, and all of a sudden Flint is really close—the fucking tides, or whatever, are to blame probably—and he’s peeling it off of him, carefully, _gently_ , before casting it aside. Flint doesn’t pull back once it’s done. They just float side by side, almost touching, and Flint in particular seems content to fucking stay like this forever and it’s bad enough, Silver thinks, that Flint’s chest is so close to the side of his arm that he can feel the heat of it through the fucking water, but then Flint’s huffed breath hits his ear and Silver, try as he might, can’t suppress the shiver that rolls through him even if it were to save his fucking  _life_.   
  
It doesn't go unnoticed; Flint catches his eye. And he looks, of all things,  _concerned_ , and then has the gall to ask, “Are you cold?”   
  
And so Silver thinks,  _fuck this,_  and turns in a rush to throw himself at him.  
     
To his credit, Flint only hesitates for about half a second before pinning Silver to the side of the hull once he actually drives their mouths together. It’s awfully urgent and desperate—there’s a lot of teeth, and tongue, and Flint’s hand twists into Silver’s hair so quickly—so fucking _eagerly_ —that Silver smiles into Flint’s mouth. Only a moment later Flint gives his hair a sharp tug and it’s not so funny anymore; Silver openly groans into Flint’s mouth instead. Flint stops kissing him to laugh darkly into his throat. That’s unacceptable. So Silver plunges his hands into the water and grabs at Flint’s hips, kneads his fingers into Flint’s ass in a way he’d imagined Flint would like, and he’s  _right_ , and that drives Flint up the fucking wall; his eyes go bright, and Silver thinks he hears something resembling an actual growl before Flint slides a hand down his stomach and past the laces of his trousers to grip Silver hard in his hand.   
  
“Now who’s fucking laughing,” Flint pants into his ear. And it’s not, it’s not Silver, because Silver has passed the point of being able to form any other sound but wanton fucking moaning.   
  
There’s a dizzying stretch of time when the only thing Silver concerns himself with is rutting into the tight circle of Flint’s fist; he squeezes his eyes shut, wraps a leg around Flint’s hip to leverage himself against the hull. Flint catches on; he winds an arm around the coil of rope by Silver’s head, plants a knee next to Silver’s hip, and jerks forward to match the rhythm. It’s a challenge, to be sure, but it feels too fucking good to stop; Silver bucks up into him and the pit of his stomach twists tighter and tighter; Flint talks into his ear the entire time—low and breathy and fucking _filthy_ —licks at it when he can’t speak, and Silver finally comes with a startled shout when Flint wraps his teeth around the line of muscle in his neck and clamps down.   
  
It’s a while later—maybe it’s only a few seconds, as far as Silver is concerned it could be  _years_ —but he finally cracks an eye open to blink at Flint, confused.   
  
“Uh,” he says. “Hi.”   
  
Flint fucking laughs again. It’s meant to be rough and abrasive, Silver thinks, but instead it just sounds warm. “Hi.”   
  
“So, uh—” Silver starts, but suddenly Flint is kissing him again. His hand comes up, out of nowhere, to wrap around Silver's neck—wet and warm—and Silver's head swims, blissfully quiet; blissfully afire. Too soon, Flint pulls back to rest his forehead against Silver's temple.

“Don’t ruin this by talking,” he says.    
  
“Right.”   
  
“Good.”   
  
There’s a beat, where the only sound is the waves lapping around the both of them.   
  
And then Silver says, “But—”   
  
Flint rears back again, glaring. “ _What_?”   
  
“I just think—” Silver unceremoniously palms at Flint through his breeches and Flint gasps into Silver’s cheek, slips into a throaty groan half-way through. Silver leans into his ear, smiling, to say, “Exactly.  _That_  needs to be taken care of, wouldn't you agree?”   
  
When Flint doesn't reply, Silver gives a deliberate squeeze of his hand and Flint _groans_ again, before clamping a hand around Silver’s wrist. Silver freezes immediately.   
  
“What is it?”   
  
“My damn knee,“ Flint spits out.   
  
“I'm sorry, your what?” 

"It may have escaped your fucking notice," Flint says, bristling, "But I have a few years on you and I can’t—“ He unwinds his arm from the rope and gestures at his knee still caging Silver’s hip. “This isn’t— _ideal_.”   
  
“Oh." 

With a sigh, Flint swats Silver's hand away from his front to take his knee off the hull. He rubs at it to ease the ache. He's still kind of glaring at Silver as he does it—as if this is somehow his fault—but there's also something sheepish, too, about the way his eyes keep skittering.

When Silver catches his eye, Flint's scowl seems to soften. So Silver surges forward to give his downturned mouth a peck. 

“Right," he says, "Well, off we go then.” 

He drops his leg from Flint’s hip and begins to climb the rope back up to deck. He’s halfway there when he realises Flint isn’t following him, looks down to see that Flint is too busy unashamedly staring at his ass to do much of anything at all.   
  
“We don’t have much longer until the crew returns from shore,” Silver tells him, hanging one handed from the rope. “So, if you like what you see you should come along.”   
  
Even this high up, Silver can see Flint’s eyes go dark. He's barely got a hand around the railing when he feels Flint at his heels, and they climb up to deck side by side. They stand dripping for a few seconds before their eyes meet again and this time it's Flint who rushes at him, backing him into the door of the captain’s cabin.   
  
“You sure climbed up that rope fast,” Silver tells him between kisses, “For an  _old man_.”   
  
“What did I say about the talking?" Flint fists his hand into Silver’s hair again and bares his neck, licks a hot stripe to his ear. "Your fucking  _mouth_ , honestly—”   
  
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Silver says, pulling on Flint’s beard until their eyes meet. Flint looks wild, and frazzled, and entirely confused. So Silver tugs him closer and swipes his tongue over Flint's lips, once, before he says; “Fucking my mouth?”   
  
And so Flint hauls him into the cabin really really fast. For an old man. 

**Author's Note:**

> welp. find me on [tumblr](https://annevbonny.tumblr.com) for more senseless silverflint screaming.


End file.
